“train your soul to remember where the weapon and the world divide”
Antiope looks at the Isra they are losing and wonders what the Isra they will get will look like, when she returns. She wonders how this war will change her, like wars have changed them all. She wonders if Isra will come back with less vengeance on her tongue or more? It is impossible to say, but she knows that this Isra is drowning in the blackness of things, in the sharpness of distant truths.
That had been her once. Sometimes, Antiope thinks it might still be. In the quiet of midnight, when she cannot, does not, sleep. When the lioness of her magic is prowling endlessly through her veins. But sometimes everything feels different. Sometimes she thinks that maybe she is not only the weapon she was made but more.
That is all she wants to be, for these people, for her people.
When Isra’s magic turns the harbor buildings to stone and quartz and metal, shining and glimmering in the dark, Antiope wants to say, “This is the thing you have always given us.” She wants nothing more than Isra to go knowing that she does not fault her, but she also wants Isra to go with all the violence she needs to save an entire world. She doesn’t know how to find the balance in time, and so the tigress does not say anything.
She only nods, when Isra says that the rest is up to her. She takes the weight upon her shoulders and bears it, like the sacks of grain and apples she had carried upon her back out of a burning building, once. Only her magic will not aid her in carrying this weight. It will not make her stronger in the ways she will need it to.
Isra’s touch is familiar, as the unicorn draws a circle upon her own shoulder. To her own moon she thinks, and glances up at the sky, eyes flashing like a gem caught in the light. She is still not so certain where her and the moon stand, but that is a matter for another day. For another night.
Not this night. This night is for goodbyes, and for beginnings.
She will make her own mistakes, that much is certain. Antiope has made them before, and she will make them again. But she promises to learn from them, and to do whatever is necessary to keep her people safe. That is one mistake which she gravely regretted making, and hopes to never make again.
And as she turns toward them crowd, toward the equines who she will be Queen of now, she’s not sure if there is anything else to say. Isra says her name, presents her to them, and she feels strangely like she is descending some marble staircase somewhere with four gods behind her. “What am I?” a faint voice rings in her head. It almost sounds like her. It could be her, before the anger, before the death. “And who am I?”
What will they think of her, now?
“Speaking.”
That had been her once. Sometimes, Antiope thinks it might still be. In the quiet of midnight, when she cannot, does not, sleep. When the lioness of her magic is prowling endlessly through her veins. But sometimes everything feels different. Sometimes she thinks that maybe she is not only the weapon she was made but more.
That is all she wants to be, for these people, for her people.
When Isra’s magic turns the harbor buildings to stone and quartz and metal, shining and glimmering in the dark, Antiope wants to say, “This is the thing you have always given us.” She wants nothing more than Isra to go knowing that she does not fault her, but she also wants Isra to go with all the violence she needs to save an entire world. She doesn’t know how to find the balance in time, and so the tigress does not say anything.
She only nods, when Isra says that the rest is up to her. She takes the weight upon her shoulders and bears it, like the sacks of grain and apples she had carried upon her back out of a burning building, once. Only her magic will not aid her in carrying this weight. It will not make her stronger in the ways she will need it to.
Isra’s touch is familiar, as the unicorn draws a circle upon her own shoulder. To her own moon she thinks, and glances up at the sky, eyes flashing like a gem caught in the light. She is still not so certain where her and the moon stand, but that is a matter for another day. For another night.
Not this night. This night is for goodbyes, and for beginnings.
She will make her own mistakes, that much is certain. Antiope has made them before, and she will make them again. But she promises to learn from them, and to do whatever is necessary to keep her people safe. That is one mistake which she gravely regretted making, and hopes to never make again.
And as she turns toward them crowd, toward the equines who she will be Queen of now, she’s not sure if there is anything else to say. Isra says her name, presents her to them, and she feels strangely like she is descending some marble staircase somewhere with four gods behind her. “What am I?” a faint voice rings in her head. It almost sounds like her. It could be her, before the anger, before the death. “And who am I?”
What will they think of her, now?
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
